Save The Tattas!

I breastfeed a 19 month old… might as well be rounded to 20. As quickly as the months come and go, I may as well round-up. I breastfeed a 19 month old. He runs around in the mud, plays football, tackles his uncles, eats everything, waves, talks, and then when he gets thirsty and doesn’t want water; which he loves…He climbs up on my lap, dragging his wet grass filled shoes across my, cute, “I don’t get out the house much, but at least I’m not wearing leggings outfit and I breastfeed my lovely son. No matter if he just finished eating a lollipop with a sticky mouth and fingers, a chip in his hand, or pizza sauce dripping off his face, I breastfeed.ย (he’s literally climbing on me as I type this….I am now breastfeeding.)

Now, this happens at tight fitted bleachers at football games, the pool, the park, the mall, story time; wherever he sees fit. I’m a water fountain. For all you mother’s who rave about breastfeeding their “22 month old,” and “I love nourishing my child with my body,” — yeah, great, I’m proud, my child is nourished, but uh, he’s received enough nourishment because mommy needs some fingernails and maybe her thick lushes mane backs. It’s a routine. He does it on purpose. He knows what he’s doing.

Eat a little.

Drink a little.

Save a little, just enough room for mommy.

Don’t get me wrong I love…..mmm….loved breastfeeding, but my rambunctious, almost 2-year-old could stand to cut back a little. Having nicknames as, “the tithes, the pacifier, some nip” — actually, I’m mommy and just wanna hear you say it once. I love breastfeeding– here’s the disclaimer… Everyone should breastfeed, it really is a beautiful thing, such a bond, nourishment, medicine that you may have never realized, but my rambunctious almost 2-year-old could stand to cut back, and cut back like yesterday.

My mom says she’s proud of me and she wished she nursed us longer; 5 children. The 1st, 6 months, the 2nd 3 months, 8 months, 6 months, and the last a year. She doesn’t quite understand that everyday of just NOT breastfeeding, just NOT whipping my breast out, has just snuck up on me. I’m proud also, but someone needs to spread advice in a blog, news article, on how to ween; because my almost 2-year-old could stand to cut back a little. It just doesn’t hold the same beauty when he’s walking up and ripping your clothes off, stretching my shirt out, pulling my cover off. Countless people have seen my breast, I’m sure. Because they are trying to figure out, why Im stuffing a toddler up my shirt and they soon figure out when flashed a medium-sized brown breast. Save the Tattas. Save my Titties. A cry for help; from my almost 2-year-old.

Did I mention I love…um… I loved breastfeeding?


When people think of living, sometimes there is only a superficial definition that comes to mind, but to live goes way deeper than simply breathing. It’s the idea of pausing and listening to every breath – deep – deepening the gust of wind that is taken in and out of your body. And in those pauses, being only grateful. When you’ve fully grasped that concept, thats when life begins. Thats when there’s life.  That’s when you’re living. Its not wanting the moment to be different. Its basking in the full, ever present, beaming aspect of now. And you see. It shows up. It’s noticeable. It bleeds out your skin. Living. Everybody doesn’t take part in living.


Just breathe.


Sheesh… talk about hitting it right on the nose. One thing I’ve learned about life is it has to be lived. If you’re graced with another breath you must, you have to, it demands you, to breathe it. Sometimes in the middle of my day I can feel an overwhelming sense of frustration. I have learned to stay quiet, to be careful not to speak to soon; to never say something I’d regret. I sometimes take a minute, read, pray, write a little, or eat lol. I’ve googled it and apparently it can be a side effect to my apparent “lupus,” diagnosis. As casually as I slipped that in is how casually it slipped into my life. In the midst of my health complications, living is still top on the to-do list. I. Must. Breathe. I often times get frustrated if I feel like I’m not doing enough with that breath or somehow I could’ve taken that breath differently or faster lol it’s easy to be hard on myself…to look at now and feel like I should be further along, but like tonight, while surfing on pinterest; I get my reminder… that it’s ok to need to take one day at a time… put one foot in front the other; because that’s life; that’s living.

31 days of Living


Writing is something that comes easy for me…. pressing “Publish,” on the other hand, is what is slightly difficult. I will be delving into the topic of living.
31 days of living.
I’ve learned to enjoy living.
Maybe you will too… I’m assuming these posts wont be what you assume. I’m thinking sad, frustrated, happy, silly, crazy, questionable, and full of more commas because that’s what living is. A bunch of commas that make up life.
Enjoy ๐Ÿ™‚
-Oct 1st… really Sept 30th in my head because I haven’t been to sleep. Night ๐Ÿ˜‰
Hasta Manana!